


Forward Propagation

by whalebone



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, Organics Are Weird, Robot/Human Relationships, learning about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalebone/pseuds/whalebone
Summary: Organics, K-2 had long ago concluded, were all rather messy and disgusting. Absolutely nothing he had discovered in the years since he had joined the Rebellion had swayed him from this view.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/K-2SO
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77
Collections: Party in the GFFA: Star Wars Flash Exchange 2020





	Forward Propagation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primeideal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/gifts).



Organics, K-2 had long ago concluded, were all rather messy and disgusting. Absolutely nothing he had discovered in the years since he had joined the Rebellion had swayed him from this view. If anything, it had reinforced it; when organics felt that any day might be their last, they tended to engage in even more of their messiest and most revolting behaviour. K-2 would prefer to ignore it entirely, but that was difficult when some of them insisted on doing it where just anybody could find them.

Shara Bey had pushed Kes Dameron up against a wall just outside the hangar, and sealed her mouth over his. Based on the state of her X-Wing, she had only just escaped a dogfight with her life. Both of their heart rates were elevated, their temperatures raised, and for some reason this was all making Bey press herself so close to Dameron it was as though she were trying to climb inside him.

Cassian put himself in life-and-death situations far more often than the average organic - much to K-2’s chagrin - but he very rarely seemed to turn to others in the aftermath. He sometimes did, of course, and K-2 kept a meticulous file on the people he preferred, just in case it was useful one day: 64% were male, 28% female, 8% with no binary gender; 84% were taller than Cassian, though as he was below average height for a human male perhaps this was not down to preference; 75% were complete strangers. But usually Cassian’s coping mechanisms did not run towards such messy activities as kissing, or copulation.

K-2 was glad about this, though he was not sure why. Perhaps indulging more often would be good for Cassian’s stress levels. And would probably be healthier than some of his actual coping mechanisms.

He left Bey and Dameron to it. Organics were sometimes embarrassed at being seen in these situations, even though they brought it entirely on themselves. 

He _was_ curious, though. 

“I have a question,” he said later, when their ship had jumped to hyperspace.

“What?” Cassian asked, glancing over at him. He had slept very badly the previous night, judging by the tight lines around his eyes.

“What is the appeal of kissing? Why do some organics do it when they have just left a dangerous situation?”

Cassian did not embarrass easily, but a slight flush crept over his cheekbones. “Um.”

“It seems nonsensical, after escaping danger, to put yourself in a situation where you are not aware of your surroundings.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I can explain it, Kay. Not in a way you’d understand. I mean…” He waved a hand vaguely in K-2’s direction. “You don’t have a mouth, or… anything.”

That was true. Part of why it all looked rather disgusting to K-2 was how _wet_ it all seemed to be. If any part of him was leaking that just meant something had gone very wrong with some of his hydraulics.

“But I guess it’s… okay. When you’ve just nearly died, you’re suddenly really… _aware_ of yourself. Of your body. It’s like your mind really wants to focus on how it feels to be alive, because you came so close to not being alive any more. And for… some people, being close to someone, and kissing them, or - having sex, or whatever, it’s one of the most alive things you can do. It’s _physical_.” Cassian swallowed. “I know that probably doesn’t make sense to you.”

K-2 considered this. “The last time I thought I would have to perform a total shutdown, I began gathering as much data as I could on my surroundings. It was not a useful activity. None of that data would have helped our situation. But I wanted to gather it just the same.”

“Hm. Yeah, I guess that’s similar. Some people need to… collect data that confirms they’re alive, and one of the best ways to do that is through being close to someone else.”

“I see. I think I prefer my way.”

“Of course you do.”

“It’s far less disgusting.”

Cassian laughed.

That conversation had been rather more enlightening than Cassian had realised. K-2 remembered those moments before shutdown, trapped in an Imperial space station with a malfunctioning oxygen generator. He had been 97% certain that he would have to trigger a total data wipe of his core, to prevent the Empire collecting crucial information after his final shutdown. Collecting new data had been a useless activity, but he had done it just the same: Cassian’s body temperature; the exact depth of his shallow, ragged breaths; his heart rate; exactly how long he would stay awake before oxygen deprivation began to shut down his vital processes; the way his eyelashes had laid dark against his pale face. K-2 had wanted to know as much as he possibly could of Cassian, in those final moments.

Was that what Shara Bey had been doing? Learning as much useless information on Kes Dameron as she could, in her limited, human way? It would not serve either of them well, if Bey’s X-Wing were blown to pieces, or if Dameron were to take a blaster in the head on a Pathfinder mission. But perhaps that made it all the more important, to gather the information while they could.

K-2 looked over at Cassian. He had slept for, perhaps, five hours the previous night. The fingers of his right hand were twitching slightly on the shuttle’s controls, the way they did when he had drunk too much caf too quickly. His hair was sticking up at the back, because he had just scrubbed his hands through it after using the fresher. None of that information was useful, but K-2 was glad to have it anyway.

* * *

He began to notice this organic behaviour more and more. Rebel pilots or soldiers would return from some perilous mission or desperate fight, and when they stumbled from their ships they would immediately initiate some form of physical contact: a kiss, a tight embrace, a grasp of hands, a firm smack on the shoulder (organics often used minor forms of physical violence as a sign of affection, which was another thing that made little sense to K-2. He had tried it, once, and Cassian had been bruised for weeks). 

K-2 was not sure why he was so curious about this. After all, he was either disinterested in or revolted by many other organic behaviours. Perhaps because it was something that seemed to be different for Cassian, and Cassian was the most interesting organic K-2 knew. He had been programmed for physical interaction with organics, of course, and knew exactly how much force was needed to break bones, or restrain movement, or deliver a fatal head blow. This interest was… not the same.

It became something of a project for K-2, to write new movement subroutines for friendlier overtures. It was not boring, particularly as it also gave him new data on Cassian. The next time they had to split up at an Imperial facility (K-2 peeling away to slice into the system mainframe, Cassian to plant incendiary devices at key locations), they came rather close to being blown up. After a desperate sprint to their shuttle and a scramble to make it to hyperspace before they could be tracked, Cassian gave a rather hysterical laugh of relief. 

“That was a bit _too_ close,” he said. 

K-2 felt the relief as well, and reached across the space between their seats to put his hand on Cassian’s shoulder. He squeezed slightly, enough that, he calculated, it wouldn’t cause any pain or damage. Cassian looked rather startled, his eyes flicking to K-2’s hand, then to his optics, and then away. His shoulders tensed fractionally. The powerful sensors in K-2’s hands could pick up the gentle warmth of Cassian’s body through the cloth of the Imperial jacket.

“Did, er. Did you get the info?” Cassian asked, the pitch of his voice slightly elevated. “Have you run a scan?”

K-2 released his shoulder, noting the increased flush on his cheekbones, even though he had no reason to be embarrassed. “Yes, of course,” he said. “No viruses. I will transmit the files to your datapad.”

“Great. That’s - great. Thanks, Kay.” Cassian gave the droid a smile. It was small, but genuine.

Interesting.

* * *

Since being reprogrammed, K-2 had learned a great deal about himself. That he was a ‘self’ not least among them. He had developed habits, preferences, and opinions (much to the dismay of General Draven). He soon learned that these small moments of physical contact with Cassian were a new thing that he enjoyed. Touching Cassian generated pleasant sensory feedback, and gave him a warm, satisfied feeling that seemed to glow through his circuits. It was... good, though odd. He did not understand _why_ touching Cassian generated such feelings. A similar sensation occurred when Cassian gave him a friendly pat on the chestplate, even though he had no sensors there. When one of the Pathfinders tried the same thing, K-2 felt nothing more than irritation, and an urge to smack the man’s hand away.

Cassian’s response to these new moments of touch was interesting, if not particularly instructive. He would usually tense a little, at first. His body temperature would become slightly elevated, and his skin flushed. Sometime he became flustered, and tripped on his words in a most uncharacteristic manner, though he never told K-2 to stop, and sometimes he would smile. 

Occasionally he even returned the gesture; when K-2 put a hand on his shoulder, he would briefly curl his fingers around K-2’s wrist joint. When K-2 patted him on the back (gently, this time), he would do the same, knocking at his plating. 

“Is this acceptable?” K-2 asked, one of the first times he put an arm around Cassian’s shoulders, feeling the man go briefly taut as he did so. It was unlike Cassian not to tell K-2 when he had done something wrong, after all.

Cassian let out one long breath. There was a pink tinge on his cheekbones, and his heart rate had increased. “Yeah,” he said, a strange note in his voice that K-2 had not heard before. It was sad, except not. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He leaned a little into K-2’s side.

It was… nice. K-2 categorised it as one of the more agreeable things he had learned in this new life where he was allowed to learn things. But it wasn’t quite enough. When he let go of Cassian, he felt a strange sense of incompleteness, as though some of his circuits were incorrectly wired. He wanted _more_ , but did not know what that meant.

* * *

It should have been a simple mission. Get into the facility, slice into the system, retrieve details on the medical supplies being smuggled off-world, then get away. K-2 had calculated an 81.5% chance of success.

“Kay, we need to _go_!” Cassian’s voice crackled over the comm. “They’ve cleared out, this place is—” He cut out, as a juddering vibration rocked the whole building. K-2 had experienced (and caused) enough explosions to know what had happened.

Alarm spiked through his systems. Judging by the severity of the tremors, the explosion had gone off three floors below. Their shuttle was docked two floors down. It would be possible to make it, provided they were quick, and provided there were no other bombs. He did not have enough information to know if this was likely.

“Run,” he suggested to Cassian. “I will meet you at the ship.”

“Already running!” Cassian was breathing hard. “We had some bad intel.”

“I agree, but that is not important right now. If you talk, your speed decreases by fourteen percent.”

Cassian swore at him, and his commlink clicked off. K-2 made his way through the maze of corridors. At Cassian’s usual speed of eleven-point-one kilometres per standard hour, he would make it down to the shuttle in five minutes. If there were no more bombs, that should be enough time before the building collapsed.

They reached the corridor heading to the shuttle at the same time, and relief momentarily overtook all of K-2’s processors. Cassian was panting, his expression strained, but he was alive.

“Come on,” Cassian said. “Let’s get out of here.”

And another explosion roared through the building.

* * *

K-2 came back online. His systems check suggested that there was minimal damage to his long-range comms and his coolant system, as well as scratches and dents to his plating. He appeared to be lying on his chest and was buried beneath rubble, a great deal of which was resting on his chassis. He could hear Cassian’s breathing, and his heartbeat, so he was nearby, and alive. He adjusted his optics to allow him to see in the darkness.

Cassian was lying just in front of him, in a clear pocket. It was lucky that the building had not fallen on him; his fragile organic body would certainly have been crushed. 

“Cassian?”

The man groaned, then stirred. He opened his eyes, and seemed to take a moment to take in the situation. He frowned. “Kay?”

“Oh good, you’re awake. You do not appear to be injured.”

“No, I - no. I’m - ugh.” Cassian moved gingerly, slowly coming to his knees and putting a hand to his head. “They dropped the damn building on us.”

“It appears so.”

“This is a kriffing disaster.” Cassian pulled a small flashlight from his belt and turned it on, moving the small beam around the space they were trapped in. When he saw that K-2 was stuck, he swore again. “Are you badly damaged?”

“No. But I believe I am currently structurally essential to this space. If I move, it will collapse on you.”

“If I move some of these blocks…”

“Cassian. There is a small gap two feet to the left of your head, and I can sense air above. We are not buried deep. You can climb out and get to the shuttle.”

A familiar, stubborn frown came over Cassian’s face. “I’m not leaving you here!”

“If you are not here, I can attempt to free myself without worrying that it is going to crush you,” K-2 explained as patiently as he could. Cassian really was short-sighted sometimes. 

“I can—”

“You can _get to the shuttle._ I estimate that it will take me around twelve minutes to get myself free. If I have not done so in that time, you should leave.”

“No.”

“You cannot stay here. The people who set these bombs are likely still in the area. They dropped the building on us, so presumably they knew the Alliance was coming. It is foolish to stay here for longer than you need to.”

Cassian looked agonised. “I’ll get to the shuttle,” he said. “But I’m not leaving without you.”

K-2 affected a sigh. “I hope you will not have to. But if I am not able to escape, or if I am found, then you must return to the Alliance. They need to know that our intelligence was so badly compromised.”

Cassian closed his eyes briefly. In the pale glow of the flashlight, with dust in his hair and over his face, he looked suddenly much sadder and older. K-2 still had one of his arms free, and he did not even attempt to stop the movement subroutine that made him reach out. He touched Cassian’s cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, covered with the faint grit of dust. He trailed his fingers against his facial hair, which was not as coarse as he had thought it would be. Cassian stared at him, a strange expression on his face, and swallowed.

“Twelve minutes,” he said firmly, a tremor at the back of his voice. “Twelve minutes, Kay. See you soon.”

K-2 watched him climb out through the gap, listened to his grunts of effort as he forced debris out of the way, to the scrapes and rattles of stone and metal. Then, thankfully, footsteps, moving with only a slight limp.

If he moved too quickly, or in the wrong direction, he could simply bury himself. Durasteel was strong, but that was no use if he caused severe damage to his systems. But he had to try. Cassian had given him twelve minutes.

* * *

His predictions were not strictly accurate. Thirteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds later, K-2 was able to haul himself to safety. Grit and dust had gathered in his joints and in front of his optics, and some internal alarms were going off. The effort of digging himself free with a damaged coolant system was bringing him close to overheating.

Cassian should have left. K-2 knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t have gone anywhere. He made his way to the docking bay, moving slowly to avoid grinding any more grit into his joints.

There was a familiar roaring sound coming from the docking bay. Cassian had not left, but he had the shuttle prepped. When K-2 entered the bay, he saw Cassian standing on top of the ship’s ramp, a blaster in his hand.

“Kay!” he called. “Thank the - _move_!”

Cassian’s blaster whipped up just as a bolt hit the wall by K-2’s head. There was not time to subdue any opponent, especially not when he was damaged, so K-2 ran, ignoring even more internal alarms warning him of damage to his joint mechanisms. Cassian fired three more shots, just as five more came dangerously close to K-2. He was twenty metres from the shuttle, fifteen—

“Cassian, get inside!”

A bolt hit him in the back, missing his antenna housing by mere inches. Cassian swore and fired back, once, twice, then stood aside so K-2 could make his way onto the ship. K-2 slammed his hand over the ramp button as Cassian scrambled towards the cockpit. Blaster bolts rattled off the ship’s hull.

A few breathless, frantic moments later, the shuttle leapt forward into hyperspace. Cassian stumbled back into the cabin, favouring his right leg. His face was hard, his eyes bright, his mouth set with resolve.

“You were meant to leave,” K-2 said, as Cassian limped determinedly towards him. “You could have been killed.”

Cassian stopped right in front of him. He reached up and grabbed K-2’s face, pulling him into an even deeper slouch than usual. “Shut up,” he snarled, and pressed his lips hard against K-2’s faceplate.

Torrents of data streamed through K-2’s core. He put his hands on Cassian’s shoulders, feeling his warmth, and that he was trembling. Cassian kissed him again, then again, breathing hard. K-2 touched his face, his soft hair, and he was so close to overheating but he did not want to stop. It should have been revolting, having Cassian’s wet mouth pressed against him like this, but somehow it wasn’t. He forgot the grit lodged in his joints, forgot the damage to his coolant system, forgot everything except how close Cassian was, and how much closer K-2 wanted him to be.

Cassian pulled his lips away, and pressed his forehead to K-2’s instead, his breath misting at his vocoder grill. “Shut up,” he said again, in a desperate voice. “Never do that again. I thought you were _dead_.”

K-2 didn’t bother to point out that he couldn’t technically die in the way that Cassian meant. He traced the shape of Cassian’s face with his fingertips, and listened to his racing heart, and felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with his overclocking processors. A deep, unexpected satisfaction, like a circuit finally completing.


End file.
